


This is Not a Con

by midnightair



Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M, Pre Show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-31
Updated: 2011-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-22 01:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightair/pseuds/midnightair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rainy night. A castle in Scotland. A private art showing... and an unexpected meeting.<br/>(Slight allusions to <i>The King George Job</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is Not a Con

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters. Or the castle in Scotland.  
>  Furthermore I have not based this around any real castles or Dukes in Scotland.
> 
>  **A/N:** This was basically written for Isa, just to make it official :3 Okay, maybe also because I haven't read nearly enough pre-show Nate/Sophie fics... and even if there were more out there, there could never be truly enough of them, especially good ones.  
>  Hope you enjoy!

Nathan Ford was not quite sure what he was doing here; here being an old castle in the middle of the Scottish countryside. He did know, of course, that it had been I.Y.S. that had sent him there, as he conveniently had just finished a job in London. The call he had gotten two days earlier had been vague; something about I.Y.S. taking over a small, England based insurance company with selected, but very rich and prestigious clients. He had then received a rather clear assignment to watch over this private event at some Duke's castle, as there had been some mix up with whoever had been meant to be there in the first place.

His following journey had consisted in taking the train from London to Edinburgh and then renting a car, as well as buying a map. Hours later than it should have taken him (he did not care to admit it, but he had gotten himself quite lost on his way), he had finally arrived at his assigned location. In typical Scottish weather. While for most part of his drive to the castle the sky had simply been overcast, the downpour had started just as he was entering the small village on the bottom of the hill the castle had been built on centuries ago. Although its sight had been rather breath taking, Nate had not spent much time admiring the old building. Already in a bad mood because of the various detours he had inadvertently taken, the rain had only further darkened his thoughts. When he reached the castle, it certainly had not helped that the air of its owner (who had descended the stairs briefly to shake his hand, before disappearing again) was full of hostility against his American citizenship, as well as the fact that he had replaced (what Nate assumed must have been) a dear and valued employee of the insurance agency his own had just swallowed up.

Nevertheless, he had been hospitably shown to his room – small, but cozy, and definitely enough for Nate, as long as it was well heated and dry. He had even received a dinner plate, but fallen asleep shortly after he had emptied it. It had, after all, been a long day of driving.

The following morning and early afternoon had passed in a blur of frantically searching first the castle, and then, after reaching a point of near desperation, the village, before finally checking emails via the incredibly slow dial up internet that he suddenly felt more than thankful for. His inbox, however, had not seemed worth the earlier frenzy. A two line e-mail from Maggie, asking how it was going and if he had reached his destination safely, one or two spam mails, as well as one from his employer (though Nate was not able to open the attachment, so the e-mail was rather worthless to him).

In a huff he had gone back to the castle where he'd realized it had already been past 4pm with the first guests scheduled to arrive at 5. Nate still only had a vague idea of the actual event, a sort of private showing of the Duke's art collection, the details of which he assumed had been listed in the e-mail's attachment that he hadn't been able to open. A surprise then. What Nate had heard, the collection was said to include, amongst others, some rarely seen early impressionist paintings, as well as a variety of other highly priced originals. Art was usually something that excited him (and Maggie certainly would have killed for the opportunity to be here, had she laid an eye on the inventory list), but his limbs felt like lead and he suspected he had caught a cold on his walk to or from the village. In short: he would rather have stayed in his comfortable little room, wrapped up in blankets, with some hot tea in his hands... or better yet, back home in his own bed. But alas, he was here, he was on the job, and so he had to carry on doing what he was supposed to do.

With slow and almost automatic movements, he had literally climbed into his tuxedo, shaved for the sake of appearances, and brushed back his hair, before he had reluctantly made his way down the stairs and into the foyer where he positioned himself in a shady corner. While he had been musing over his past day or two, he had been watching the arrivals that had slowly started coming in with little interest. Leaning against the wall, he cast a casual glance at his watch, before he decided to join the other guests and enter the main hall of the event. There were already more people than Nate had expected to turn up for a private showing and, while it made his job more difficult, it certainly made it more easy for him to blend in.

The paintings really were stunning, he concluded after slowly walking along the walls of the room, pausing to look at each work of art. Many of them he had never seen or even heard of before, some painters' names were only vaguely familiar. Some were Scottish landscapes, others were (presumably) the portraits of famous ancestors; others seemed to be completely unrelated. Had he had access to the list (and to the internet), he would have read up on the paintings and artists a little; he always liked being prepared. These, however, were clearly extenuating circumstances.

One particularly stunning landscape held his attention for a longer while than all the others, and he carefully studied the brush strokes that made up one of the largest pieces shown in the room, and the longer he studied the beauty of nature portrayed on the painting, the more he felt his spirits starting to lift. When he was finally ready to tear his eyes off the work of art, he found himself confronted with one of the few, tall windows of the room, and the rain drumming monotonously against it, which immediately brought him back to his previous mood. He was, after all, still stuck in an ancient Scottish castle somewhere in the middle of nowhere and the rain outside seemed to have reached a scale that made Nate wonder if the village was already flooded. With a discontent grunt he turned away from the window and towards the room again, letting the warm light of the chandeliers and the glow the paintings seemed to spread, before he reached for a drink one of the waiters had been conveniently carrying by.

While sipping on his drink and enjoying the warmth it left in his throat and that slowly began to spread through his body, he continued walking around the room in slow and seemingly thoughtful steps, but his mind was not on the job, or anywhere in Scotland really. If anyone had looked at him more closely, they would have noticed the empty, spaced out look on his face, but he was careful to avoid contact with any of the other guests.

After completing a second round through the room, Nate found himself standing in front of the same picture again, marveling once more at the richness of color and the mood it conveyed so perfectly. His thoughts had found him again, almost as if the painting had some anchoring effect on him, keeping him grounded in the hall. And then there was another feeling that suddenly came over him: a strange, tingling sensation that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Before he even realized he had heard her voice, he was instantly aware that the woman he knew as Sophie Devereaux was in the room and in that moment, all his thoughts were centered on her. Seeing her here (or anywhere, for that matter) always gave him a forbidden rush of adrenalin, a surge of pleasure and excitement. When Sophie was around, things were bound to get interesting. Nate was well aware that their cat and mouse game excited him more than it should, but as long as their meetings stayed sporadic, he did not see a reason to change them. Why take away the little sugary treats of their electrifying chemistry? No. Nate was enjoying them too much to feel guilty.

He savored the moment a little longer, before he dared to turn around. He had no reason to distrust the unmistakable tingle on his skin, but there was still a part of him left that feared he might be wrong after all; that there would be no Sophie if he finally did turn to look.

When he did finally spot her in the crowd, relief washed over him, combined with the thrill of having an advantage over her: Sophie clearly had not noticed him, or knew he was in the same room, which gave Nate enough time to take in her appearance. As expected, she was socializing, charming two or three older men around her with her smile, champagne flute in one hand, toying with the string of pearls on her neck with the other. Nate had always been fascinated by the way she so easily seemed to put a spell on people, and often wondered if he was just as bewitched by her as anyone else (not that it really mattered). Just as he finished his thought, he realized Sophie's eyes had met his (and his element of surprise had vanished). The shadow of a smile danced over her face for a second and she held his glance while continuing the conversation with the men near her. To Nate it seemed like forever until Sophie finally broke away from her company and as if her steps were painfully slow once started to make her way across the room to where he was standing. The little, long sleeved black dress she was wearing ended in mid-thigh length, showing off her legs perfectly. Briefly, very briefly, Nate wondered if the dress wasn't too short for this kind of occasion, before any kind of coherency appeared to have left his mind – even his drink, already brought to his lips, was forgotten.

“Nathan Ford. What a surprise to see you here!”

The tone of Sophie's voice matched the rather mischievous smile that had settled on her lips and that cleverly hid her surprise. “I had no idea the Duke was insured with I.Y.S.,” she added, moving yet a little closer to Nate, who, in turn, found himself backing off against the wall behind him. Still more or less at a loss of words, the ones he finally spoke came out in a harsher tone that he had intended: “What are you doing here, Sophie? Which painting are you after? The Turner, maybe? I know you have a weakness for impressionists.”

Noticing her slightly furrowed brow and the vanished smile on Sophie's face, Nate immediately regretted his questions; especially when she turned away from him. He caught her wrist to pull her closer, before apologizing in an almost hushed tone. “I'm sorry, that was rude of me. I should have at least asked how you were first.” The last part he added as an afterthought, accompanied by a smile that made Sophie's face relax again. “Rude indeed, Mister Ford. Did you leave your manners in America?,” she immediately threw back at him. “What makes you think I'm here for a grift, anyway?”

“It's a private showing, Sophie. What do you want me to expect? That you're the Duke's niece?”

Sophie's reaction confused Nate – her burst of laughter seemed completely disproportionate to the joke he'd made. While she quickly covered her lips with her hand, her eyes still twinkled in amusement. “Well, Nate, what if I told you just that?” He, in response, simply shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You wouldn't believe me,” Sophie added, laughing more softly this time. Of course he wouldn't. He'd probably never know how close to the truth of her identity he'd come just now and Sophie definitely was not going to elaborate on the issue.

“How about... we get another drink, let business be business for tonight and find a quiet spot to catch up? I promise not to steal anything.” Without waiting for a response on Nate's side, Sophie had already signaled the waiter and secured two glasses for them. Handing the darker liquor to Nate, she linked her arm with his and lead the way towards the door leading back into the foyer. “I should really stay here... and do my job,” Nate told her hesitantly, looking back over his shoulder.

“Don't be silly, nothing is going to happen.” The twinkle in her eyes and a cheeky smile on her lips rather implied the opposite, but once again Nate was given no time to object. Sophie lead the way, distancing Nate and herself from the crowds. She knew her way around the old castle remarkably well, he noted, wondering how she had gotten this far. It must have been a long con, he decided, the thought that there might actually be more to his earlier comment never once passing his mind and so he followed Sophie, occupied with theories as to what she had done to get in and what piece of art she was after. If he'd only gotten the chance to read up on the exhibited paintings, he might have had a better idea of what was the center of Sophie's focus, but as it was, his best bet was the Turner... but Nate had not seen Sophie pay special attention to any of the paintings and so even his best bet might be a shot in the dark.

They had slowed down and eventually come to a halt in a dimly lit hallway that made Nate wonder if Sophie had really intended for them to end up here. In a way, it made him feel better, less suspicious at least. If they had gotten lost along the way, Sophie certainly knew how to cover that fact up, leaning against the wall in a very casual gesture.

For a while, they were quietly sipping their respective drinks, neither tearing their eyes away from the other. Their meetings were always strange and unexpected, which was, of course, the biggest thrill to their relationship, but it didn't happen very often that they actually had the chance to spend some quiet moments together. But for once, Sophie hadn't stolen anything and he hadn't figured out her con, so the element of the chase had been taken from them and all of the sudden Nate found himself at a loss of words; and he was sure that Sophie was thoroughly enjoying his awkward silence.

Eventually, he became restless and started pacing, shifting from one foot to the other, until Sophie set aside her drink and stepped close to him. Putting one hand on his shoulder to calm him down (cool fingers on warm skin) and fixing her dark eyes on his, she finally broke the silence. “Don't tell me you have nothing to say when you're not chasing me?”

“Sophie...,” Nate began, but broke off quickly. He didn't really have an explanation or an excuse and if he made one up on the spot, Sophie would surely know. “This is just an unexpected situ-”

Before he could finish the sentence (trying to blame the general situation instead of himself), Sophie motioned him to be quiet, while she turned her head, listening. “I think there's someone coming,” she finally explained. Nate furrowed his brow and shook his head, about to tell her that he didn't hear anything, when Sophie suddenly took his arm and pulled him into the next best room before he even had time to react. The room, it turned out, was nothing more than a tight spaced broom closet; dusty and dark, lit merely by the dim light that found its way through under the door.

“You see... the Duke gets very jealous.”

In the small storage space, Nate had just barely managed to support himself with one hand on the wall. Nonetheless, Sophie was still very close, and even though her words were merely whispered, he still detected the hint of a smile in them; and once again he had to wonder what mischief she was up to. Had there even been someone outside, or had it just been an excuse for her to get Nate where she wanted him? His thoughts froze at the touch of Sophie's hand, softly pressing against his chest as she seemed to move even closer. Her breath on his skin made him shiver and he quickly shut his eyes and clenched his jaw in a weak attempt to resist temptation. “What are you doing, Sophie?,” he managed to ask huskily, but her only response was moving her hand to his neck, fingers taking hold of his hair, pulling him even closer...

Nate felt his defenses crumbling, and then, quite suddenly, his hand found her thigh, exposed by the shortness of her dress. When skin met skin at last, he experienced something that could only be compared to a burst of electricity, jolting through him as his fingertips lightly traced her leg. Sophie writhed beneath him, groaning ever so softly. Nate lowered his head to place butterfly kisses along the line of her neck, teasing and nipping until he reached the corner of her jaw. Pausing, he whispered her name again, hesitating. “This is really not a good idea,” he added, failing miserably to distance himself. Instead, he only found himself hugging Sophie closer – his free arm wrapped around her waist while the fingers of his right hand were desperately digging into her thigh. Sophie, in the mean time, had crossed her arms behind his neck and was now pulling him into a searing kiss. Nate felt dizzy and intoxicated as their lips collided in a frantic attempt to get closer and closer to each other.

Finally letting go of Sophie's thigh, Nate's hand found its way to her face, brushing across her cheek before diving into the dark waves of her hair, desperately in need of more... just more.

Moaning as Sophie's teeth got hold of his lower lip, Nate loosened his grip on her briefly – and just as quickly as this moment between them had started, it was over. Before he even realized what was happening, Sophie had placed a quick, ghostly kiss goodbye on his cheek, slipped out of his embrace and out of the broom closet. For a second, he saw regret flash over her face in the light of the open door; but as he reached out to hold her back, his fingers only met with the smooth wooden surface.

.

Disappointed, frustrated, and even a bit humiliated, Nate had stayed in the darkness for a while longer before he finally opened the door again.

It took him a while to find back to the foyer and by the time he had reached his room, he wondered if this chance encounter with Sophie had even been real. It felt more like a dream to him as he recalled the smooth, silky skin of her thigh and the sweet taste of champagne and wealth on her lips... Carelessly leaving his tuxedo where it dropped to the floor, Nate crawled under the covers in trance. For all he knew, this might all have been a brilliant act of Sophie's; a mere distraction for her to get what she wanted... but as he turned out his lamp and lay in the dark, his fingers fumbling for the small, stinging wound on his lips, he knew that he could not care less if Sophie robbed the Duke blind tonight.


End file.
